“You are not that cowardly,” she chided.
“No,” he admitted. “And despite being a provincial orchestra, the musicians have more than made up for the incidental drain on my patience.”
She was still smiling broadly when he handed her down from the box, then wound her arm with his. Together, they st
rolled toward one of the booths set up to dispense lemonade, orgeat, and champagne.
While they stood in the short queue, she was conscious of attracting more than a few glances, all of which she pretended not to notice while inwardly admitting that never in her life had she felt so envied.
When they fronted the booth’s counter, Kit requested two glasses of champagne. On receiving them, he turned and offered one to Sylvia—and froze. He raised his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry—I should have asked. Is champagne to your liking?”
She smiled laughingly and filched the glass from his fingers. “Yes—of course.” She sipped. Over the rim of the glass, her teasing eyes met his. “My only complaint is that I don’t get to drink it nearly enough.”
He felt slightly silly over his discomfiture. “You are a clergyman’s daughter, as you’ve reminded me often enough.”
“Hmm.” She appeared to be savoring the quite acceptable wine. “That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”
He watched her take another sip. Her lips—pale rose and delectably curved—glistened as she lowered the glass. He had a vague memory of her sipping the beverage at the wedding, so decided she wasn’t simply trying to paper over his gaffe. He steered her away from the crowd now flocking to the booth toward a spot by the wall where the press of bodies was rather less.
Sylvia drank the champagne, enjoying the slight fizz on her tongue, and allowed her gaze to roam over those pouring into the gallery, many coming up from below. If they stood there much longer, they’d end besieged.
On the thought, Kit shifted—much as if he wished to, metaphorically at least, hide behind her skirts.
She cast him an amused glance. “I would have sworn that, in society, you would be much more at home than I.”
His eyes were fixed on the shifting throng. “I seriously doubt that’s true.”
He really didn’t like being there—being surreptitiously gawped at and ultimately targeted by the local hostesses and their husbands as well. While Sylvia felt vaguely tickled at being more assured in this sphere than he, she also felt an impossible-to-resist urge to ease his way. Glimpsing several ladies eyeing him from behind their fans, she drained her glass and handed it to him. He’d already finished his drink. He beckoned an attendant collecting glasses nearer and placed the empty glasses on the man’s tray.
The instant Kit lowered his arms, Sylvia twined her arm with one of his. “If I might make a suggestion?”
His gaze, somewhat hunted, had returned to the shifting throng.
She leaned closer. “You can’t hide, but there’s no reason we can’t go on the offensive, as it were, and choose with whom to engage—namely, those who might have relevance to the school or your business.” When he blinked at her, she gently tugged and got him moving. “Just follow my lead, and rather than getting caught in conversations to no purpose, let’s see if we can’t put our time to better use.”
He met her eyes, then acquiesced with a nod and faced forward. “All right. Wither away?”
She spied Councilor Peabody and his wife. “Why not start with Peabody? It won’t hurt to connect with him again.”
As he’d agreed, Kit followed her lead. Given he’d met Peabody before, their interaction with the councilor and his wife passed off reasonably easily, especially as Mrs. Peabody proved to be a gentle, motherly sort.
They departed the Peabodys’ orbit and fetched up beside the mayor—a Mr. Forsythe—and his wife. Although Mrs. Forsythe’s eyes lit, Forsythe himself was only too pleased to monopolize Kit’s time, and Sylvia’s, too, eulogizing over the establishment of Cavanaugh Yachts and all the great things Forsythe hoped would flow from that and also effusively commending the relocation of the school. Kit ended amused by Forsythe’s earnestness and mentally labeled the mayor as a gentleman he could call on if Cavanaugh Yachts encountered any problem with the city council.
Sylvia accepted the mayor’s accolades with what Kit sensed was a large dose of cynicism, yet she remained gracious throughout.
On quitting the Forsythes’ circle—much to Mrs. Forsythe’s ill-concealed dismay—they fetched up beside Mr. Hemmings, the chairman of the Dock Company, and a lady who proved to be his sister. Kit was glad of the chance to pick Hemmings’s brain regarding the workings of the docks and the Floating Harbor, which Hemmings seemed only too happy to discuss. Miss Hemmings and Sylvia spoke of social matters, such as the school and several charities on the boards of which Miss Hemmings served.
Then two other couples arrived to join their circle. Kit thought the conversation would slide out of Sylvia’s control, but after she deflected three probing comments directed at him with an artless ease he could only envy, in each instance firmly steering the conversation back to a discussion of some aspect of business, she tightened her hold on his arm, smiled at everyone, and made their excuses, then nudged him into walking on.
He was only too ready to do so.
While they continued to amble and stop here and there to chat with people she considered he should know, he realized that she’d been right. As long as they were moving with apparent purpose, no one was game enough to attempt to intercept them.
Increasingly, he relaxed and focused more definitely on using the opportunities Sylvia steered his way to further his knowledge of those who held power in Bristol’s business world.
When, eventually, the bells rang and they returned to their box, he sighed and dropped into the chair beside Sylvia. Through the gathering dimness as the lamps were turned down, he met her eyes. “That was an entirely unlooked-for bonus to my evening.” He dipped his head to her. “Thank you. I couldn’t have managed that without you.”
Sylvia’s cheeks heated; she was glad of the deepening gloom. She glanced at the stage, but although the orchestra was in place, the conductor had yet to reappear. She hesitated, then ventured, “From your questions to various gentlemen, I gather you’re taking a long-term view regarding Bristol and your company.”